The Same Page
by sandbar
Summary: McGee is late to the release party for his girlfriend's steampunk thriller, Black Vengeance and DiNozzo saves the day. *Part of the Special Agent Alexandra Brown Series. Alexandra Brown is based on a character in "Stakeout".


"Still no signal," Special Agent Timothy McGee said, looking at his cell phone.

"We are in the boondocks, McGee," his partner Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo replied. "Don't worry, I'll have you back in time for your date."

Tim opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. He put his phone back into his breast pocket.

"So, who is this girl anyway?" Tony pried.

"She's not a girl. She's a woman," Tim beamed.

Tony looked at McGee with interest. "A woman then. Details, Probalicious . How long have you been seeing her? Where did you meet? Who. Is. She?"

Tim smiled. He enjoyed keeping secrets from Tony since Tony prided himself on finding out all he could about his coworkers.

"You're going to play it that way? Well, I think that I need to stop at the next gas station, and the one after that, and the one after that."

"You've already stopped at every gas station between West Virginia and here."

"Sorry about that. I had a little tummy trouble, and it might just continue the rest of the way home."

"All right, Tony. Her name is Alexa Steward and she's a writer," Tim fudged.

"A writer, huh? Never heard of her."

"You'd have to read something first," Tim muttered.

"What was that?"

"I said, 'I'm not surprised.' This book is her first."

"What does she write?"

"Victorian mysteries," Tim answered.

"Sounds exciting," Tony said sarcastically.

"Actually, it is." Tim looked at his watch, then pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Still no signal. He sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. "This is her evening. Her book's release party. I really want to be there for her. Tony, I can't be late."

Tony looked at McGee and recognized an opportunity to come to the rescue. "You'll be there," he said as he quietly gave the Charger a little more gas.

---

"You have reached the cellphone of Timothy McGee. At the tone please leave a detailed message."

"Tim. Hi, it's Sandy--again. Like I said before, they are sending a car for me at six. You need to be here by then, or just meet me there. Either way, call me. Okay. Bye."

Special Agent Alexandra Brown was nervous enough about this evening without worrying about whether or not Tim would make it. Tonight was the release party for her novel, which she wrote at Tim's prodding and which was published by his publisher. _Black Vengeance_ was a steampunky whodunnit: an eclectic mix of Victoriana, Wellsian science fiction, and modern culture--maybe not truly Steampunk, but leaning that way. She'd been surprised to find that she'd had a loyal following of her short fiction online, and even more surprised when Tim had told her that his publisher was interested in a novel-length story. Tim had been there since the beginning and now, on her big day, he was MIA.

She looked at the clock on the phone's base as she replaced the handset. No use worrying. Tim had plenty of time, she, on the other hand, had twenty minutes until her appointment at the nail salon. Nothing like a manicure to take the edge off. She stuffed her cell into her pocket, grabbed her bag and hurried out the door.

---

"This is not Sandy Brown, but it is her voicemail. Leave me a message and I might just call you back."

"Hi, it's me. I got your message. We're on our way back from West Virginia, but. . . ," Tim heard the phone beeping in his ear signaling the call was dropped. "Damn." He looked at the phone again. No signal. "Tony do you have a signal?"

Tony pulled out his phone and flipped it open. "Got nothin'," he replied. "But, hey, you left a message. She'll know that you got her message. You'll be fine."

"I hope you're right."

---

Sandy set down her cell and decided not to worry about Tim, even if he hadn't called her back. She had to trust him, right? She decided instead to set the atmosphere. She lit some candles, poured herself a glass of Merlot, and put some soft music on the stereo. She ceremoniously dressed for the evening, starting with her Victorian-styled boots, which she would have to use a button hook to close. She'd already realized that once she put on her corset, there was no buttoning boots. They were a little too high, but they made her legs--and her butt--look good. Next she slid her tight charcoal grey skirt over her head, scootched it down her body, and smoothed it across her hips. She looked in the mirror to adjust the slit on her left thigh that, like the boots, was a little too high. Then she grabbed the gold and charcoal grey corset and wrapped it behind her, thankful that she'd chosen one that hooked in the front. After hooking the corset, she bent from the waist to put "the girls" in place before making the final adjustments to the side laces.

She started to relax as the transformation and the wine took effect. She was no longer Special Agent Sandy Brown. She was becoming Steampunk mystery author, Alexa Steward. She reached for her matching black lace collar and cuffs she had crocheted herself to keep awake on late nights doing satellite surveillance in MTAC. Then she added bracelet of cogs and other assorted watch parts to her left wrist; it was a gift from Tim, er Thom E. Gemcity, for this night. Drop earrings shaped as brass globes and a small black veiled hat completed the metamorphosis.

At 6:01 p.m., Alexa Steward stepped from her apartment and into the carriage that would take her to the ball, oblivious to the flashing light on her answering machine.

--

"I told you not to take the parkway. I'm going to be late."

"This one's on me, McGee," Tony pressed. "It'll only take a minute." He maneuvered the Charger into the loading zone and dropped it into park. "I'll be right back with your dry cleaning."

Tim looked at his watch, yet again, as Tony got out of the car and rushed to the dry cleaners two doors down. It was almost six. He'd already missed the car picking up Sandy at her apartment. He still had to get home, changed, and to the hotel by 7:30.

"If I'm late, somebody's going to die," Tim called after Tony. He meant it as a threat, but he suspected that he might be the one in peril if he didn't make it to the reception in time. "I knew I should have taken the day off."

McGee looked at his watch two more times before pulling out his cell phone to verify the time. What was keeping Tony? He bounced his cell in his hands a couple times before punching in Tony's speed dial number.

"You have reached the cellphone of Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo. . ."

"Come on, Tony." McGee hung up and pocketed his phone into his breast coat pocket before opening the car door and stepping out onto the sidewalk. He walked the two doors to the cleaners and pulled open the door.

"And then the guy said. . . 'I don't know, but I had to get the trailer hitch re-chromed.'"

The store erupted in laughter. Tony stood with dry cleaning in hand, surrounded by three employees and 4 patrons of the dry cleaners.

"I've got a million of them," Tony bragged

"And you're out of time." Tim grabbed Tony by the arm and dragged him out of the store. "What part of late did you not understand?"

"It'll be fine, McGee. I'll get you there in time."

---

Sandy waited at the registration table as long as she dared, but after 45 minutes she felt pathetic waiting for a guy who was obviously not showing up. Tim had not picked her up, not called, not answered her calls or texts. It could only mean one thing--Gibbs. Sandy tried not to think about what Tim could be doing instead of being here for her on her big night. She tried to take a deep breath to power an even deeper sigh, but her corset was just a little tight for sighing. Instead, she pasted on a smile and went into the banquet hall to greet her audience.

"Ladies and Gentleman, our guest of honor--Miss Alexa Steward."

Sandy heard the whispers and gasps that came before the applause. She smiled and waved and tried to ignore the 15 foot tall banner of herself in a very gauzy back dress and purple bodice, clearly airbrushed to show much more cleavage. Above her picture were the words, _Black Vengeance._ Below them, her pen name, Alexa Steward. Her publicist had wanted her to wear something similar this evening, but she was confident in the look she put together. The only accessory that would have made this evening better would have been to have Thom E. Gemcity on her arm.

"Miss Steward will be reading from her book, _Black Vengeance_ shortly. Until then, please enjoy the hor d'oeurvres and champagne."

Sandy's smile warmed as she greeted her fans. She was amused by the reactions in the crowd toward those in the audience who were came in Steampunk attire. She was pleased to see that at least some in this audience appreciated her efforts on a deeper level. She started toward a group who seemed eager to meet her.

"Alexa, darling!"

Sandy turned toward the voice, already knowing to whom it belonged.

"Randall Fleming! So good to see you again," she lied. Randall was a compulsive flirt and a contemptible literary thief.

He offered her one of the glasses of champagne that he held in his hands and leaned in to kiss her right cheek.

"This is quite a turn out for your first work," Randall said, "Of course, not as large as mine."

"Of course not, Randall." Sandy sipped her champagne rather than say anything more.

Randall craned his head around the audience. "I don't seem to see Thom here this evening. Are we alone?"

"_We_ aren't anything, Randall," she said coolly. "Thom was unavoidably detained."

"Tsk, tsk. Well if he isn't here in time for the reading, I'll be happy to step in for him and read his forward to your book."

Sandy cringed at the thought of Randall voicing Tim's words. "Thank you for your offer, but we have everything under control. If you'll excuse me. . . ," Sandy nodded politely and crossed the room to join the group of eager fans, wondering even more what could be keeping Tim.

---

Tony and Tim sat in the car going no where fast.

"I'm sorry, McGee. I didn't know that traffic would be this bad."

"Weren't you the one who told me to always plan for bad traffic?"

"I did, didn't I?" Tony recalled. "Look, I told you that I'll get you there on time and that's what I'm going to do. Climb in the back."

"What?" Tim looked ready to blow a gasket.

"I'm not taking you home. I'm taking you straight to the hotel. Climb in the back and change."

"In the car?"

"In the car." Tony looked at Tim like a doctor delivering a grim diagnosis. "McGee, it's the only way."

Tim shook his head, but unbuckled and climbed over the seat, muttering the whole time.

"You set back there?" Tony asked.

"Yep. Except I don't have a clean shirt. Or my cufflinks, or. . .Tony this will never work."

Tony threw the car in park, popped the trunk and opened the door. The car behind him blew its horn; the driver cursed.

Tim, who was already taking off his pants, suddenly felt a little overexposed. "Hey!" Tim shouted, covering himself with his arms.

Tony opened the trunk, pulled out a bag and tossed it on the seat beside him before climbing back into the car.

"You weren't the only one with plans tonight," Tony said tossing the bag into the back seat.

Tim zipped it open and found a fresh white shirt, a shaving kit, and a small jewelry case. "Thanks, Tony," Tim said.

"So, if you're ready, you've got a reception to get to." Tony edged the car onto the berm toward the exit.

---

Tim and Tony rushed into the hotel and toward the ballroom. As they opened the door, they saw the banner showing Sandy dressed in black, holding her book.

"Your new girlfriend is Special Agent Brown?" Tony asked staring incredulously at her digitally-enhanced cleavage.

Tim smiled a knowing smile, "Um-hmm."

Tim's new publisher, Tracy Sturgis, walked to the podium to a smattering of applause. "Ladies and gentlemen. Thank you so much for joining us this evening. We are honored to share with you a talented young author, Alexa Steward. Alexa was discovered, if you will, by our very own Thom E. Gemcity, and I would like you to hear what Thom has to say about Alexa in his own words." Randall stood at the foot of the stage, book in hand, anticipating coming to Sandy's rescue. Over Randall's head, at the back of the room, movement at the doorway caught Tracy's eye. She smiled as she recognized Thom. "So with no further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Thom E. Gemcity."

Sandy turned when she heard Tim's nom de plume. He made it--and it appeared that Tony did too. She watched him walk to the podium dressed in black pinstriped pants, a dark red waistcoat, and a charcoal grey tweed jacket. He wore a gold tie that she could have sworn that she'd seen Tony wear before. She smiled. He looked good.

"Good evening," Tim began. "I'd like to begin by saying to Alexa, 'I'm sorry my love. It couldn't be helped.'" He looked at Sandy with such sincerity that she couldn't help but forgive him. She smiled back and nodded. A current of conversation buzzed through the audience. Obviously, most of the crowd understood the reference.

"Alexa and I have been friends for sometime, but it wasn't until recently that I discovered that she had been writing Steampunk mysteries online and that she had quite a following, as is evident this evening. After reading most of her stories, I mentioned her works to my publisher, who was more than happy bring her onboard.

"Alexa has the uncanny ability to take modern situations and seamlessly place them into a Victorian setting. Its really this juxtapositioning of the modern and the historical that makes her work unique. In _Black Vengeance_, Alexa takes a case that could have been ripped from the headlines, so to speak, and sets it in England circa 1882. The case involves a serial killer who murders unfaithful wives, seeking revenge for their infidelity on the behalf of their husbands."

Tony cocked his head in disbelief. "Oh, no. Not again," Tony thought as his mind raced to the Andy Hoffman case, the serial killer who almost killed Ziva.

"But rather than go on, please let me introduce you to my muse, my better half, my own Cassandra Lawton. Ladies and gentlemen, Alexa Stewart."

Sandy walked to the stage, taking Tim's offered hand as she climbed the two steps to the podium. She kissed him lightly on the cheek and then took her place at the microphone

"Thank you, Thom, for that kind introduction. Or should I say, 'Thank you, Theo?'"

Tim looked down and smiled, his ears turning red.

"Thank you all for coming. Before I start, I've been asked this evening if there is significance to the title of the book. I took it from a line in Othello, at the point where his love for Desdemona turns to hate as the result of her alleged unfaithfulness. "All my fond love thus do I blow to heaven. 'Tis gone. Arise, black vengeance, from the hollow hell!" She opened her book where she had marked it and began:

----

"Good evening."

The corners of Cassandra's mouth turned up ever so slightly at the sound of Robert Houghton's voice. Before she could move, she felt the side of the bed lower with his weight and then the warmth of his breath on her ear.

"Good evening, love," he whispered in her ear.

She felt the scratch of stubble across her cheek. Goosebumps raised on her arms. She smiled contently as she rolled to her back. Robert was finally here, even if the night was nearly over.

"Mmm, hello."

She reached up for him, resting her hand at the back of his head. His hair fell into his face; she loved it when it did that. She pulled him toward her; he offered no resistance as her lips pressed against his. She felt the weight of him on her and instinctively slid her hands down his muscular back to his butt. She pulled him tight to her, moving her hips ever so slowly. She could feel Robert's smile before he kissed her harder, then she felt his powerful arms tighten around her as he rolled to the bed, then rolled to his back, pulling her on top of him.

She straddled him, smiling as she looked into his eyes, sparkling in the flickering lamplight. Her hands eagerly sought the buttons on his shirt. She briefly considered ripping the shirt open, but she knew that she'd be the one sewing on the buttons--again. She hurried through the buttons, then moved her hands up his bare chest. At the same time, he found the bottom of her chemise and pulled it over her head. She pressed against him, skin against skin, mouth against mouth.

Robert shifted his weight, rolling Cassandra to the bed. Her hands slid to his shoulders, peeling the shirt down his arms. Robert shrugged the shirt off, until the cuff buttons stopped him. First one, then the other button popped off and bounced on the hardwood floor.

"You're sewing those back on," Cassandra told him.

"Of course," Robert agreed before kissing her again. He slid his hand down her side and across her hip. He felt a tug on the button fly of his trousers and kissed her harder.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Someone's at the door," Cassandra said.

"Nobody's home," he whispered, his lips trailing along below her ear.

She seemed content to ignore the knock. That was her mistake.

Robert slid his hand down her hip, across her leg, and up her body, slowly dragging it between her legs, across her navel, her stomach, between her breasts, tracing the outline of her neck and jawline, and then his hand closed on her throat. Cassandra's eyes opened in near panic. Her hand clawed at his. Robert shifted his weight, sitting on her, so that he could apply pressure with both hands. She reached under her pillow. Her hand came back empty.

"Looking for this?" Robert taunted as he pulled a petite revolver from his pocket. "Really, under the pillow was the first place I looked."

Cassandra struggled against him anew. Fueled by the realization that she had nothing but her wits to prevent her becoming his sixth victim, she pulled her knee up as hard as she could between his legs. In his surprise, he dropped the gun and momentarily loosened his grip on her neck. That was all Cassandra needed. She grabbed the weapon and fired two rounds, point blank, into his chest. The menacing look in his eyes became shock then a blank stare as he came face to face with eternity. He collapsed onto her, pinning her to bed. She tried to push him away, raising him enough to meet his eyes. She thought again about brushing the hair from his eyes, but instead summoned her strength to roll his lifeless body to the other side of the bed.

She lay next to him, naked, shocked, and gasping for breath. So stunned was she that she didn't flinch when the door to the rooms burst open and Theo and their associate Anton entered the room, revolvers in hand.

Theo rushed to her side, grabbing her dressing gown and covering her. A gentleman would look away; Theo knew that Anton was no gentleman.

"Cassandra, are you all right?" he asked, helping her into her gown.

"You're late, Theo," she coughed.

"I'm sorry, my love. It couldn't be helped."

Theo helped her from the bed. Gaining her composure a little, Cassandra pulled the gown around her tighter, then stepped into Theo's arms.

Meanwhile, Anton moved to the bed and turned his attention to the body lying there. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and looked closely at the wounds in Houghton's chest.

"Please see to this mess, Anton," Cassandra said, from the safety of Theo's embrace. "Inform Inspector Lewis at Scotland Yard that Theo and I will be there in the morning to file a report on how we dispatched the St. Nicholas murderer."

"How you dispatched him, my dear," Theo said proudly.

"It was a team effort, really," Cassandra said putting both hands on Theo's chest, her fingers fondling the button covers on shirt above his dark red waistcoat.

"In the morning, miss?" Anton said has he pulled a pad and a pencil from his coat pocket to sketch the scene.

"Yes," she said, looking fondly into Theo's eyes. "Our rooms are paid for through the night. It'd be a shame to let them go to waste."

"Yes, miss," he replied.

"Really, Sandy," Theo said, holstering his revolver, "haven't you had enough excitement for one evening?"

Cassandra put her arm through Theo's and walked with him toward the door. "Funny. I was thinking our excitement is just beginning."

---

Sandy closed the book and basked in the applause of her fans. No wonder Tim liked this so much. She stepped away from the microphone as Tracy stepped up to speak.

"Wasn't that exciting? And that's just from the second act. There is more where that came from. Pre-autographed copies are available at the table in the foyer. . . ."

Sandy wasn't really listening. She took Tim's hand and stepped from the platform. She wrapped her arm around his and pulled him close. He leaned into her and kissed her cheek.

"You were great!" Tim whispered into her ear.

"Thank you, Mr. Gemcity. That was a lot of fun."

"Almost makes it worth the sleepless nights," Tim confided.

"The panic attacks," she added.

"Nights apart," Tim added.

"Nah!" they shook their heads simultaneously.

"Look, there's Tony."

Tony looked less than happy, but it didn't stop his elevator eyes. Looked quickly at the banner on the wall. _"Airbrushed, but not much."_

"Anton?" he asked.

"What?" Sandy asked innocently.

"Again, with being a character in a book?"

"It's working out pretty well for me, Tony," McGee replied smiling.

"Yeah, you get to go home with the girl. My character gets to spend the night with the dead body."

"Well, if you like that kind of thing," Sandy teased.

"That's not what I meant."

"Tell you what, Tony. To thank you for getting me here tonight, I'll make you the hero in my next book," Tim offered.

"Really? 'Cause I'm thinking James Bond or Jason Bourne." Tony rubbed his hands together in delight. "What's the book about?"

"It's called _K-9 Patrol._ I think I'll name one of the dogs 'Tony'."

Tony was crestfallen. "Very funny."

"If you'll excuse us, we have rooms upstairs and it would be a shame to let them go to waste," Sandy said as she pulled Tim toward the door. "Come on, Theo."

"See ya, Anton," Tim called over his shoulder.

"Yeah, but at least Anton got to see her naked." Tony turned to look at the banner, then looked at the couple walking away. He was speechless.


End file.
